New Beginnings
by Katie Grey
Summary: Harry finds it hard to adjust to his new life at Hogwarts when he still hasn't gotten over his life at the Dursleys. Luckily, plenty of people want to help him. But can he trust anyone to keep his secret? What would happen if everyone found out? ABANDONED
1. Chapter 1

**New Beginnings**

A/N Thanks everyone for reading! This is my very first FanFic and I hope you like it!

This is also my first time using this site so I am sorry if some things aren't right, I am not completely sure how everything works yet...

And definitely don't forget to review because it would be so helpful to me! I need to know if you guys like the idea, and do you think I should take it further?

I do have some ideas... but I will make a promise to you, the person helping Harry will not be Snape! I want my story to be original, and I hope that you like it.

Onward with the story!

The Great Hall shimmered. It danced with glorious light. At every table students laughed and talked and argued, and the air was cluttered with a blur of noise. The ceiling was dotted with small puffy clouds, and beams of light striped across a baby blue sky.

Suddenly the noise faltered as everyone turned to look towards the huge doors that led into the hall. They were opening, and as they did the strip of light that escaped through grew wider and wider, until finally the doors were wide enough that the light shone onto the huge form of a man. He had wild hair framing a buoyant face, and he seemed to be laughing about something. Behind him was a small group of disheveled First Years, soggy from the boat ride across the lake.

Everyone turned, eager to get a glimpse.

 _Is he here?_ They wondered. _Is he really here? Does he have the scar?_

And then they saw him. He was talking to a red-headed boy, another one of the Weasley clan, probably. In front of them was a small girl with very bushy hair. He was short, and incredibly skinny. But no one noticed how skinny he was, all eyes were drawn to the scar on his forehead.

Harry seemed to melt underneath all of the prying eyes. "Ron," he whispered. The red-head didn't notice. "Ron!" he elbowed Ron in the side.

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed. "What was that for, Harry?" he rubbed his sore side. The girl in front of them raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Harry decided not to mention that he was feeling uncomfortable. "It's just... who's that?" he pointed to a man with a long gray beard who was standing next to an ancient looking hat and looking down at all of the students. His eyes, if Harry wasn't mistaken, seemed to twinkle.

Ron looked. "Oh, I'm pretty sure that's the headmaster, Dumbledore. Right, George?" he poked one of his two equally red-headed older brothers.

The twins were puzzling over something that they had brought. It looked like a muggle fire-cracker. The boy that Ron had poked looked up. "Oy, Ron, I'm Fred!" he shook his head, looking exasperated. Harry couldn't blame Ron for not knowing. The two boys looked identical, down to the last red hair.

Just then, Dumbledore spoke. "And now, for the Sorting!"

Harry, in a haze of relief, sat down at the Gryffindor table. He had not be sorted into Slytherin! Ron looked equally pleased next to him. That same girl with the bushy hair was also in Gryffindor, as was Neville, whom Harry remembered from the train.

Dumbledore was speaking, and then he sat down with the other teachers. The air was heavy with conversations, but Ron was staring eagerly at his empty golden plate. Harry stared at it. He could see his reflection, and his scar. He traced it with his finger. Why so much fuss over some old scar? Why did everyone he passed want to see it?

Just then, the plate exploded with food. Harry nearly jumped in his seat.

His mouth watered.

Porkchops, potatoes, salad, ham, chicken... Everything was heaped high and generously on his plate, and it was steaming gently, ready to be eaten. Harry stuck out a finger and touched it, gingerly, just to make sure that it was real.

Ron was already digging in.

But Harry hesitated.

 _Harry blinked in the scorching fumes rising from the stove-top. The pan of bacon sizzled and fried, smelling delicious. The pancakes were a perfect golden-brown and the eggs light and fluffy. He ran his fingers through his wild hair. What had he forgotten? He was sure that there was something, something that Uncle Vernon had wanted._

 _He shrugged and flipped another pancake. He must be imagining things. It was hard to tell one day from another, one meal from another, one moment from another. Everything was the same, and nothing worthwhile would every happen to him, which was probably because he was a worthless freak, as Aunt Petunia never failed to remind him._

 _The sound of an elephant tromping across the savanna came to his ears. Dudley was coming down the stairs. Aunt Petunia ran to him and rumpled his blonde hair. "Good morning, my precious Duddykins!" she cooed. Harry tried hard not to laugh, but a small snort came out. "What are you laughing about, freak?" she snarled. Harry immediately turned back to the pancakes._

 _Then Uncle Vernon came stomping down the stairs. Harry tensed automatically. The action was ingrained in him, the instinct to be ready._

 _Vernon's great, bulging belly came into view ahead of him, swinging and swaying with every great, heaving step. He roared, "Duddy!" and the two embraced. It looked more like two meatballs slamming into each other, Harry thought. He barely held in his laughter._

" _Hurry up, boy!" Vernon shouted. Harry started, and turned back to the bacon. They were blackened and burnt. He couldn't believe it. "Where's the toast?" Vernon asked suspiciously, glaring at the toaster._

 _That was it! That was what he had forgotten! Harry ran to stick some toast in the toaster, trying not to look at the blackened, shriveled pieces of bacon. He heaped generous helping of eggs, pancakes and toast on every plate and set them on the table. Then he poured the burnt bacon into the garbage._

 _Vernon stopped where he stood. Harry could tell that he was thinking, but it was too much trouble for him to think and walk at the same time. He swallowed nervously, trying to look as innocent as possible._

 _Then his thinking was over. He looked extremely proud of himself, which meant he must have come up with a conclusion. "Boy!" he roared. The sound was nearly deafening._

" _Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry forced himself to say._

" _Where is the bacon?" he shrieked. "Dudders wanted bacon, boy!" Harry felt his ears twinge with pain. Why did Vernon have to be so loud? He could hardly think. He couldn't even think of a good excuse._

" _I... it, the bacon burnt..." he stuttered out the truth, and silently cursed himself._

 _Petunia growled, and Dudley started sobbing. Huge, heaving, fake sobs. "I-I wanted bacon!" he choked out._

 _Uncle Vernon grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, and Harry froze in place. "Listen, boy, I won't have any of your foolishness." He dragged him to the hated cupboard and thrust him in. "And there will be no food for you, boy! Freaks like you don't deserve food!"_

 _And the door slammed into darkness._

Harry stared at the food longingly. It looked so delicious, like it could actually fill the gnawing hole in his belly that had been there for as long as he could remember, so long that he barely noticed it anymore. But if he tried to take it, would it be wrong? Was he even allowed too? It he took a bite, would he feel Vernon's heavy hand pulling him into the cupboard?

No, that was silly. Vernon wasn't here. Harry _wasn't_ dreaming. He silently pinched himself, keeping back the little cry of pain that threatened to bubble up. No, he wasn't dreaming. But how could this plate, piled high with food, be for him? Wasn't he a worthless freak? Did worthless freaks not deserve food?

"Ron?" He attempted to get his friend's attention away from eating. "Ron?" Ron looked up, startled.

"What is 't, 'Arry?" he said with his mouth stuffed with food.

"Are you – are you sure that we're allowed to eat all of this?" Harry asked carefully. The bushy-haired girl looked up, and Harry could tell that she was listening.

"Yeah, of 'ourse," Ron said, as if it were obvious. "Why wouldn't we be?"

Harry felt his face go hot. "Oh, um, no reason... just, wondering." the excuse was monstrously feeble, but Ron took it. Probably because he felt inclined to believe Harry, just because he was the-boy-who-lived.

Harry still could barely believe that. _He_ of all people, the-boy-who-lived? Him? It didn't make sense in so many ways. And even more crazy than that was the idea that he was a wizard. A wizard! Wizards were only real in books, in _fiction._ Magic was supposed to be something awful, something embarrassing, as the Dursleys had so often reminded him. They had kept it hidden for so long from their neighbors, from everyone, and now here Harry was, in a room filled with magic.

And food.

And with that thought, he remembered that he hadn't really eaten for that whole summer. Not a good meal, anyway. Sure, he had had a few sweets on the train, but he was still famished. The monster that raged constantly in his belly, the monster that was hunger, roared anew. He was so used to pushing his hunger down that he was slightly surprised at how hungry he was.

At the Dursleys he rarely was fed, if ever. Sometimes Aunt Petunia would give him a few minutes to wolf down a dry peanut butter sandwich, and reminded him that he had better eat fast unless Vernon found out.

It would be a good idea to eat everything before someone took it away.

So, with new enthusiasm, he stuffed everything he could into his mouth, eating and eating, lest the food disappear as quickly as it had come.

The bushy-haired girl noticed and looked disgusted, but next to him Ron was eating quickly too. Harry was encouraged by this, and soon everything was gone. The porkchops, the buttery potatoes, the leafy salad, the ham, the delicious chicken... it was all gone, and Harry was full for the first time since he could remember.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N I hope you like this next chapter!

I will try to add a chapter at least once a week, but it might be hard with school... So I am sorry if I can't get a chapter in in time.

Again, don't forget to review!

 _The sand was hot. So hot that it burnt. Which was reasonable considering that it had been left out all day underneath the scorching sun._

 _The small, faint outlines of people rippled like waves, and the shouts and cries of happy children filtered through water._

 _The water rose and fell, rose and fell._

 _There was the cousin. His name wasn't important. His skin was red with sunburn and from the murky sunlight. He was flouncing in the water with another boy, who was fat but not nearly as fat as the sunburned boy. Neither of them had names._

 _The water rose and fell, like the inflections in someone's voice._

 _Rising and falling, steady and slow._

 _Now the sand was a blanket, cool and fluffy, and soggy with waves. Toes could sink into it, castles could rise out of it, plastics shovels and spades could pierce it, but it always returned back to being an endless blanket._

 _A hazy clamor. The two boys rampaged up the slope, slipping in the water, and landed heavily on a towel next to a woman. Who was she? It didn't matter. She was skinny and had a long neck, and she was leaning on a man who was huge and had no neck at all. They looked at the fat boy adoringly. And they scowl at you._

 _Who are you, anyway?_

 _You aren't sure, all you know is that the water is rising and falling, and rising and falling._

 _Someone shouts, but it is so deep and buried, like they are speaking through water. The man with no neck gets up and yells at you, but you don't know what he is saying._

 _He comes closer, every step making him sink into the sand._

 _You sink your toes into the wet sand beneath the waves. You look at the setting sun. You see everything except for the fist heading for your face._

 _Rising and falling... Rising and falling..._

Harry jolted awake. His cheek stung. No, wait, it didn't. No one had hit him. He had been dreaming, right? He felt his cheek. There _was_ a bruise there, and then he remembered. Even though he didn't want to, not at all. So instead he concentrated on the waves.

No, there weren't any waves here.

It was a voice. A vague voice.

Harry tried to remember where he was. The cupboard. No, he was stretched out, and light was hitting against his closed eyelids, making him see red. There were no windows in the cupboard, and no room to stretch. So, thankfully, he wasn't in there.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Someone was staring at him.

"Gah!" he cried, startled. He was looking directly into two huge pairs of eyes. They were silver, no they were blue, no, wait, they were gray... Well, anyway, they were huge. They were also framed by dirty blonde hair, and the hair was falling in cascades from a face.

The girl pulled back, startled. "Sorry," she said vaguely, as if she were speaking to the air.

 _That was the vague voice!_ he realized. But then he couldn't quite remember where he had heard a vague voice from.

 _Water,_ he thought. _It was water, I'm fairly sure._ He struggled to piece back what he could remember of his dream, but he couldn't remember anything else.

The girl was still staring. For an instant he thought he saw her eyes flutter to the scar on his forehead, but he was probably imagining things. She could have looked plenty of times while he was sleeping.

Then he noticed Ron, and Hermione, whose bushy hair was sticking out more than usual. Hermione smiled. "You finally woke up, Harry?"

Harry's face went slightly pink. "Yeah, just tired, I guess." He faltered.

 _Uncle Vernon stormed into the house, slamming the door. His face was stuffed with food, and he was about to yell at Harry before he realized that his mouth was too full to form words. He struggled to swallow, and Harry chuckled._

" _Wha' are you 'aughing 'bout, 'oy?" Vernon choked out._

 _Harry's face returned to an emotionless mask that he had perfected over the years, but Vernon was already angry. He grabbed the front of Harry's old shirt and forced him closer._

" _Listen, boy." His mouth was freed of food now, and so he could raise his voice suitably. "You had better not mess this party up. This is Dudley's twelfth birthday and it is_ very _important and you had better just keep your... your... freakishness out of it!" he spat out the word_ freakishness _and a bit of saliva landed on Harry's nose, but he couldn't rub it off because Vernon was still holding on._

 _Then Vernon shook him._

 _Harry's brain wobbled around in his skull, his bones rattled in their sockets. He couldn't say a word, couldn't make Vernon stop, but then Vernon let him go and pushed him, roughly, back into the kitchen. Harry was supposed to be putting the frosting on the cake, and he had been, until Hedwig started making noise. That was what had got Vernon so angry._

" _And shut up your stupid bird, or I'll snap its neck!" he growled, before slamming the door behind him again._

 _Harry stared out the window for a moment at the party. Dudley and his friends were sitting at a table eating pizza, and they were grinning and enjoying themselves. The room next to the kitchen was littered with opened presents, and Harry sighed, realizing that he was going to have to clean up the wrapping paper._

 _His birthday had passed nearly a month ago. It had been extremely uneventful, seeing as no one noticed it except for Harry himself. He was able to celebrate with some treats sent by his friends, though. They had even sent him presents!_

 _Imagine that, a worthless freak getting real presents on his birthday!_

 _Harry finished the cake, spread an extra dollop of frosting on top, and brought it outside. The partyers didn't notice him, nor did they say thank you, but Harry was just glad to be alone._

 _After he had cleaned the kitchen and cleared out all of the wrapping paper, the party was over. Harry wasn't in the least bit sad about this, except for the fact that now Dudley had nothing to do but mess around with his presents, and then he would head to Harry as a source of entertainment._

 _Dudley's favorite game was to use Harry as a punching bag._

 _But Dudley was, oddly enough, completely absorbed in his presents, and soon it was time for bed. Harry was heading for the cupboard when Vernon stopped him. "Clean up the party, boy," he ordered. "If it's not done by morning you'll have me to answer to!"_

 _Harry stared at the mess. No, not mess, catastrophe. A hurricane had passed through the backyard, leaving behind decorations, bits of frosting, broken toys, and even a string of lights that was hung on the roof. The inside of the house was complete pandemonium as well, and Harry had no doubt that Vernon would include that in the list of things that Harry had to clean up._

 _He sighed._

 _He would get no sleep tonight, that was for sure._

The girl seemed to accept this explanation. "Me too," she agreed. "I've been studying like mad. Have you caught up on your homework?"

Harry went even redder. "Oh, um, well, not all of it completely, I suppose." the truth was, he had had no time to do any, because the Dursleys wouldn't allow it, and they were keeping him much too busy.

But, once again, she accepted this feeble explanation.

"Er," Harry began, not wanting to sound rude, but needing to ask. "What _is_ your name, anyway?"

"I'm Luna, Luna Lovegood," she chirped.

Just then, Harry noticed that she was wearing turnip earrings, and decided to talk to Hermione and Ron instead.

Hermione was looking at him with a strange expression on her face, so he decided to talk to Ron.

And so they talked about Quidditch.

But Hermione didn't miss the fact that Harry couldn't seem to stop yawning.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N_

 _Well here's the next chapter! I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to review!_

Luna Lovegood added another flourish of red. No, no that didn't look quite right. She sank the paintbrush back into the can of red and added another touch. Hmm... maybe just a bit more.

Yes, that was it.

Ron's eager, smiling face stared back at her from the ceiling, and a bit of red paint dripped from his head of flaming hair. He was finished, finally.

And next to him was Hermione, with her bushy hair sticking out and curls framing her face. She had such wise eyes, Luna thought. She just _looked_ smart. You could almost tell that she spent her days with her nose buried in books simply by looking at her.

But she didn't look proud, and that was the most important thing.

She frowned at the blank space of ceiling on the left. It looked so empty, yet she couldn't fill it. She wasn't quite ready. She didn't really know Harry all that well, because he had spent the train ride asleep and she hadn't seen him for very long that whole year.

But that wasn't the real reason.

She didn't want an image of the-boy-who-lived on her ceiling. No.

She wanted a picture of _Harry Potter_ on her ceiling. She wanted to know something about him besides his scar.

Maybe that spot would have to remain blank for now.

She frowned at the blank spot again, and then hopped down from the ladder. She cleaned up all of the paint cans and scrambled down the stairs to meet her father, who looked exhausted.

"Daddy!" she cried, wrapping him in a warm hug, and ripping the tiredness from him. She didn't want her father to be tired, he didn't look as nice when he was. And when he was tired he would never go down to the river with her to take a walk and pick up shiny stones. Finding pretty things by the river was one of Luna's favorite things to do, and it was ten times better when her father was with her.

Her father smiled, and rubbed her head. "You've got something in your hair, sweetheart." Luna's hand flew to her head, and then she relaxed.

"It's all right, it's only a bit of Ron's hair."

Her father looked alarmed. "Ron is here? Isn't he one of your friends?" He looked around, as if expecting to see a red-headed guest that he wasn't prepared for. They hadn't even cleaned the house!

Luna giggled. Her father could be so funny. "No!" she said, as if it were obvious. "He's on my ceiling, daddy!"

Her father looked even more alarmed, but that only made Luna laugh harder. "I painted him! Him and Hermione, and I'm going to paint Harry too! But you can't see until it's done, all right?" Her father nodded, looking relieved and proud of his little artist. He started to head for his room. "No!" Luna cried, before he could leave. He looked up, startled. "Oh, sorry daddy. I mean, do you want to go for a walk down by the creek?"

Her father smiled again, but it was weaker this time. "Sorry, angel. I'm really tired right now." As if to prove his point, he topped it off with a yawn.

That reminded Luna of something, but she couldn't remember.

"Oh, all right then," she said, feeling slightly distracted. "I'll go alone.

Her father nodded and headed for his room, and Luna opened the door and was met by a burst of light. The sun was up and the wind was warm, and she ran down the hill with a spring in her step, only pausing to pick a bunch of purple flowers. _These will be perfect for daddy!_ Their blossoms looked like ball gowns, and they turned their faced to the sun and blushed delicately.

Luna scrambled the rest of the way down the hill and met the river. It gurgled a buoyant hello and rippled past. Water soaked into her toes, and she wriggled them happily. She knelt and plunged her hand into the water. It snaked past, flowing around and over her hand. She brought it back out and examined the rock that she had grabbed.

It was perfectly pink.

She squealed in delight and stuck it into her pocket, thinking that she might give it to Harry. And then she remembered why her father's yawn had brought back so much deja vu. Harry had been yawning all day during the first day of school. Students were usually told to catch up on their sleep before arriving at Hogwarts, but he obviously had not, and it wasn't like Harry to have a blatant disregard for perfectly reasonable rules. She puzzled over this in her mind, but couldn't come up with anything.

Except.

After her Sorting, during the feast, Harry had eaten _so_ fast. Faster than normal. She hadn't quite taken this information in, because she had been so happy to be at Hogwarts. But she had noticed, and not just because she wanted to look at the-boy-who-lived's scar, because he was her friend. She thought about this as well, but couldn't come up with anything at all. She had just plunged her hand back into the water when she froze.

 _What had she just heard?_

She thought it had been a growl. Maybe it was. But if she didn't turn around she wouldn't have to know for sure, so she stayed where she was, staring at the house. It was a very pretty house, dangling off the top of the hill.

 _That wasn't hot breath on the back of her neck... It was just the wind._

There was a step.

Now she _had_ to look.

She turned.

A dog.

She felt like she would explode with relief. It was only a dog. It was a huge dog, and a jet-black dog, but it was still only a dog. Dogs didn't have wands, and she did. She drew it out for good measure, just to show that she wasn't afraid of any old dog.

It barked, and glared at the wand with yellow eyes.

It seemed like the dog actually knew what the wand was. Luna frowned. That couldn't be right, it was just a dog. Probably a muggle pet that had escaped from its owner.

The dog stared at her, as if trying to make up its mind about her. It cocked its head. And then it seemed to sigh; a long, lonely sigh.

Luna barely had time to react before the dog was a person pointing a wand and yelling, " _Obliviate_!"

Xenophilius Lovegood sat down on the bed with a long prolonged sigh. He stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought.

He was startled to find someone looking back at him.

He didn't know who it was, but their red hair was familiar enough. Must be another Weasley. They all had the same fiery red hair. And next to him was a girl that he didn't recognize at all. That was probably Hermione. What a peculiar name. But it suited her.

And then there was a blank spot. Empty. For some reason it sent shivers crawling up his spine. It reminded him of something... something...

 _A flash of light. A spiral of noise, and a quiver of a touch, of a spirit._

 _Sun glared. Moon smiled._

 _Stars twinkled._

 _But dark was loudest of all._

 _And light was silent, brooding, watching._

 _The mirror glowed with an unnatural green light. Like the killing curse. Like Avada Kedavra. Only he didn't think of that._

 _A flash, again. Spiral and quiver, spirits and stars._

 _There she was._

" _Xeno!" warmth in the voice, visions in the eyes. She was worried, thinking, discovering._

 _Xenophilius took in, all at once, the familiar beauty in her eyes, her love, her spirit. It was all reflected in the mirror. That wonderful mirror._

" _How are you, darling?" he asked, a bit half-hearted. He was tired again. Too tired to speak, too tired to ponder, to realize that this could be the last time he was speaking to her..._ Why _couldn't he have thought of that?_

 _She ignored the unimportant question. Her mind had always thought on a higher level than Xenophilius's ever could. "My discoveries are amazing!" she cried. She was so happy, and it brought tears to his eyes. "Did you know that light could process information?" she asked. Of course he hadn't known that. So he didn't answer. "It can!" she announced, sounding triumphant. "It can remember, it can store, it can have a personality, I think." she dropped her voice, unsure._

" _I'm sure you're right, you've never been wrong before." she hadn't. But there was a first time for everything. Only he didn't realize that._

" _I've thought of a spell that might use this to its advantage," she murmured, getting quieter, as if someone might overhear. Xeno leaned closer to his mirror, and she to hers._

" _What is it?" breathless. Pandora had never invented a spell before._

" _It is called the_ Luxluce _spell!" happy. She was happy, and so he was, too._

" _What does it do?"_

" _It summons light. I could reflect it with my wand, send it off into different directions. I might be able to create a spell that can send light to process information, if my guess is correct that light can actually do that..." here she looked doubtful._

" _I'm sure it can. I'm sure it will work." it never occurred to him that it might be dangerous, or that Pandora might be wrong._

 _Days crept like spiders, slowly past, inching along. Xeno was so excited to hear if the spell had worked. But he didn't want to interrupt her work._

 _It never occurred to him that she could be lying on the floor at that moment, injured and weak, and that if he had used the mirror to contact her he would have known. He could have saved her._

 _But then a week had crawled by like molasses. And he took up the mirror._

 _A flash of light. A spiral of noise, and a quiver of a touch, of a spirit._

 _Sun glared. Moon smiled._

 _Stars twinkled._

 _But dark was loudest of all._

 _And light was silent, brooding, watching._

 _The mirror glowed with an unnatural green light. Like the killing curse. Like Avada Kedavra. Only he didn't think of that._

 _A flash, again. Spiral and quiver, spirits and stars._

 _And then he looked eagerly but nothing was there. Just a blank space. Just empty. Alone and lost, and absolutely nothing._

 _Nothing._

The blank spot on the wall reminded him of the blank face of the mirror, looking up without a hint of emotion on its face.

And then everything was lonely and listless and couldn't find its way, and no one looked because everything was gone.

And Xenophilius cried.


	4. Chapter 4

Here's your next chapter!

Please review!

Oh, and I forgot one thing.

 **Disclaimer:** I solemnly swear that I do not own Harry Potter

Happy Reading!

"Hufflepuff!"

"Ravenclaw!"

"Slytherin!"

"Gryffindor!"

The Sorting Hat called out, enjoying itself immensely. The scared little first years who had just been sorted all sat down at their tables with their new houses. Many of them pointed and stared at the-boy-who-lived, gaping at the lightning scar.

Harry groaned.

"What's wrong, mate?" Ron asked, genuinely concerned. He hoped that Harry wasn't sick.

"N-nothing," Harry stammered. His stomach twisted and coiled up, knotting into as many shapes as Harry could think of. He was certainly going to throw up. "I just gotta go to the loo..." he managed, before vomit rose in his throat and he struggled to swallow it back down. He couldn't throw up here, with everyone staring at him!

He stood on wobbly legs and tottered to the bathroom, where he deposited all that he had just eaten into the toilet. _Why_ had he eaten so much? He _knew_ not to gobble down food after going hungry for so long. It was one of his rules that he had learned from the Dursleys, one of the laws that you had to abide by if you wanted to survive.

The Dursleys did not want a freak throwing up in their toilet.

The last time he had done that... Harry shuddered to think of that long week (was it just one?) that he had spent in the cupboard beneath the stairs, without a bite to eat. After _that_ he could hardly eat anything at all without it coming back up.

He hadn't eaten for several days before this feast. He should only have taken a few bites. But the food had looked so good. He hoped that no one had noticed him coming to the bathroom. He mentally cursed himself for his stupidity.

Vernon Dursley cursed. And he did it quite colorfully.

Aunt Petunia banged the pots and pans a bit louder than necessary.

Dudley, fueled by his father's rage, scowled and swore, which was something he had learned to do recently.

They all stood firing furious looks at the man on their doorstep, who was clad in many shades of green and a bowler hat. And he was holding a _wand_ and smiling cheerfully, and that just made the Dursleys angrier.

"Hello! I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic." he greeted them, as a way of announcing his presence. He waited hopefully for a moment, but they didn't answer. Petunia banged even louder. Vernon seemed like he was about to say something, but shot a glance at the wand and instead descended into sullen silence. Fudge seemed to shrug this off, and continued. "I'm sure you'll all be happy to know that we have, er, _deflated_ Marjorie Dursley. She is currently at St. Mungo's, but will soon be able to return home, after a quick memory spell."

"St. Mungo's? Never heard of the place." Vernon grunted. "Don't tell me it's some sort of... _freak_ hospital?" he snorted at this.

"It is a magical hospital, sir." Cornelius Fudge corrected. Petunia shrieked from the kitchen, and ran into the living room to confront Fudge.

"Don't... don't tell me you're..." she paused a moment to control her anger. "Don't tell me you're going to use any of your..." she seemed to struggle with herself, and Fudge looked confused. "Any of your _magic_ on my sister-in-law?" she glared at him, and willed her gaze to pierce him with a million swords. It didn't, however. And so she kept on glaring.

Dudley gasped. "You said the M-word!" he had such a shocked look on his piggy face that Fudge laughed.

All three scowled at him.

He didn't notice. "Please don't tell me that you don't say _magic_ around here?" he seemed to think that this idea was hilarious.

Petunia slammed the door in his face.

Vernon raged, stomping around the house, and even threw a plate at the wall. Petunia practically demolished the pots and pans.

"When that _boy_ comes back," Vernon roared. "I'll make him wish he was never born!"

Petunia silently agreed.

Dudley smirked.

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, adjusted his bowler had. Blissfully unaware of what he had just done to Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived.

Luna Lovegood was sitting by the water.

She was holding her wand tight.

And next to her was a pink rock.

She was staring into the distance.

 _Why? What am I doing here?_

Luna Lovegood stood up.

She put her wand into her pocket.

She also put the pink rock in her pocket.

And she turned and looked at the house.

And she went back home.


	5. Chapter 5

_Next chapter!_

 _Review, please!_

 _:)_

There was a cloud of noise that had settled over the Great Hall. A din of forks and knives clanking, and people talking, and eating. It was the first day of the school year, and there was a general excitement. Everyone was happy to be able to perform magic without setting off the Trace. And they were generally excited to be back at school.

Hermione couldn't concentrate. She turned over another leaf in her book, "Practical use of charms" without having taken in a single word on the previous page.

She only wanted to study, was that too much to ask?

Finally she gave up, and trudged up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Ron gave her an anxious look, but she assured him that she was fine.

Something was wrong, and it unsettled her so much that she turned to look. Where was Harry? She swept her gaze over the Great Hall, but either she just missed him, or he wasn't there. But he had been there a moment ago, hadn't he? Yes, he had just said that he had to go to the bathroom, right?

Well, if that was all...

But she knew something was wrong, and it unnerved her to no end. She would like to check up on him, but she couldn't go barging into the boy's bathroom, and she didn't want to.

And then she crashed. The floor was the sky, and the walls were upside down. Her book went flying every which way.

It took her a moment to regain her bearings, and then she realized that she was lying on the ground, and someone was extending a hand to help her up. She looked up and saw Luna.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, vaguer than normal. She didn't even seem to notice Hermione, except for the fact that she was offering to help her up.

"No, I should have payed attention to where I was..." Hermione broke off.

Luna wasn't listening. She was standing quite still, and had a look of extreme concentration on her face. "A dog!" she cried suddenly. Hermione took a step back, afraid that Luna had finally gone completely nuts. "A... a... Oh, as soon as I remember it's gone," she complained. "Do you know?" she turned to Hermione. Her blue eyes bored into her brown. "About the dog? Did you see it, too?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione muttered. She just wanted to get to her room and study, and now here she was, stuck talking to Luna about stupid dogs. "I've seen loads of dogs."

Luna frowned. She twisted a strand of her long blonde hair around her finger, whispering to herself words that Hermione could barely hear. "Black, I'm sure of it. It was a black dog. But what does it mean? Whenever I think of it my brain goes all fuzzy."

Alarm bells started up in Hermione's head. Those were the symptoms of the Obliviate spell! When the victim started to remember, the spell would force their brain too go fuzzy and make them forget the details, and important things, if the victims were able to remember anything at all. Eventually they would forget everything about it.

But Luna was already going down the stairs, still speaking to herself. Hermione shook it off. Luna was probably just imagining things. After all, she was a bit... strange. Hermione looked out over the Great Hall again, but the seat next to Ron was still empty. She was growing more worried by the second. "Luna!" she called, but only as a last resort.

Luna turned. "Yes?" she answered, but it seemed like she was speaking to herself again. Hermione ignored this.

"Have you seen Harry?"

Luna frowned, trying to remember. "No, I haven't. Is anything wrong?"

"Oh, no." Hermione felt awful lying to Luna, but she didn't want to have to talk any longer to the strange girl. Luna fixed her with a strange expression, and for an instant Hermione panicked, imagining that Luna knew that she was lying.

But then Luna turned away.

Hermione looked over the banister again, and saw Harry there, next to Ron.

She breathed a sigh of relief, and went up to her room to study.

Ron was drifting in and out of sleep. He wasn't tired, really. He was just bored. He would probably spend the night lying there in bed, which; while quite comfortable, was boring nonetheless. He shifted again for the umpteenth time, staring at the ceiling. Seamus's light snores, and Dean's breathing filled the room. Harry's quiet breathing came from above him.

Ron frowned. Harry didn't sound sick, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that something had been wrong at breakfast that day. Either Harry had simply needed to use the bathroom, or... or he had thrown up.

But he wasn't sick. Ron was sure of it. If he was, it would show. Ron knew the signs, because he had so many siblings who were constantly coming up with fevers and flues. Shivering, or burning up. Looking pale. Tired. Not hungry. Throwing up.

But if Harry hadn't been sick, then why did he throw up?

After a few moments, Ron shook aside this notion. Harry had probably just had to use to loo. And, anyway, he was fine now. So what did it matter?

 _Creak_

Ron froze, listening intently. Nothing.

No, there was something. Some sort of noise. What was it? He turned, but saw nothing. He was probably just imagining things. After all, he was quite tired. Most likely he was halfway dreaming.

 _Ragged breathing._

Ron gasped. Something, someone, was there. Right there. In the black, where he couldn't quite see. He strained his eyes, afraid of the hidden.

 _Sirius Black was standing over him. And he was holding a knife._

 _\|/_


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